A girl's night out
by kay245
Summary: Sherlock receives a text on a Saturday night that prompts him to go out at a night club. There he encounters his first hint of jealousy. Just a quick scene set between the the shooting of Sherlock and Christmas in HLV. Sherlolly hinted.


_So just some little editing going on, because I've seen some typos (I'm sure there are still some left, but anyway). _

_Hello, I've hit a writer's block in my current story and this little scene just wouldn't make it off my mind. It doesn't fit in my current story (but could take place before the story). So, this is about Sherlock's first hint of jealousy regarding Molly. While Molly is in the story, she doesn't do much. This is more about Sherlock (and I hope I managed that I stayed relatively true to his character). Please review if you like it. :)_

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHS

Extremely loud music, stroboscopic lights pulsing with the beat of the latest hit and hundreds bodies gyrating as in a trance, Sherlock for sure hadn't expected to find his pathologist in such a place. Yes, it was Saturday night, the designated night for people to get drunk, move in a sad attempt to dance and maybe avoid going back home alone. He, of course, except for a few cases or when he had needed to procure for a fix, wasn't one for such a waste of time. So, why was he there? Well, he had no one to blame except for a tiny woman that had mistakenly texted him.

**Hey, where are you? I have the shots and if I don't find you, I'll have them all by myself. ;)**

Those were the words that appeared on Sherlock's phone as he was in his flat, trying to decide whether he was going to play violin or settle for abusing some body parts stocked in his fridge. At the reading of the text, he wondered if Molly was referencing some experiment including firearms but immediately had to dismiss the idea. No, the pathologist didn't text him in such a casual spirit. It was almost tedious how professional and matter-of-fact her texts were. No smileys or expletives that weren't totally grammatically correct. Even Mycroft wouldn't find fault with them. Strangely, he found the manner of the texts extremely annoying. He knew that was a way for Miss Hooper to keep him at an emotional arms' length. Normally, he should have been relieved at this new more stiff upper lip attitude but he was feeling increasingly resentful at it. Before pondering on why such sentiment would arise at that, Sherlock had focused back on the words of the current message. He doubted that the referred shots would be from guns nor would it be related to vaccination. No one would be so eager to get those.

So, only possibility left: alcohol. Which made sense: Molly had broken off her engagement, of course she would need to distract herself and have some fun. Pity that said fun didn't include going on cases with him and John. She would be quite a buffer to John's current bad moods. He couldn't believe how a man could exude such aggressiveness without even opening the mouth. So much, in fact, that even he, Sherlock Holmes, most oblivious and unflappable man in the world, could pick up on it. If he needed some proof that love was a chemical defect, the fallout of his best friend and his wife would be proof enough. So yes, Molly Hooper would have been an appreciated addition to their little team. If she hadn't still been a little bit disgruntled at the Janine and shooting things. At the thought, Sherlock sighed. Why couldn't the people in his lives be more… he couldn't find the right word… forgiving? No, that wasn't it.

Suddenly, a new thought occurred. What if that text was an indicator of Molly's inebriation? Maybe she already had one too many of those shots? At the image of the little woman, dressed up to the nines similarly to how she had been that dreadful Christmas years ago, wobbling on her feet as drunkenness coursed in her veins, he found himself somewhat alarmed. Moreover, she most definitely would have misjudged the amount of alcohol she could ingest. The proof: one just had to look at how wasted John and he had been that terrible stag night. It was only his duty to go and rescue the damsel in distress, he finally concluded.

Sherlock, who'd been in his mind palace for those little deductions, got up from his chair and went to grab his coat. As he made his way to the stairs, he pondered briefly on the opportunity to have John accompany him. He glanced at John's old bedroom which had been repossessed by the army doctor since the shooting. At the reminder of John's current grumpiness, Sherlock decided that he could do this much by himself. Now, there was only one man that could know where Molly Hooper was this Saturday. He took his phone out from his pocket and called one Billy Wiggins, new member of his homeless network and very smitten with the little brunette –the last, at Sherlock's much unexpected irritation. But not one to dismiss a potential advantage, he had put the man in charge of trailing the young woman and make sure that she wasn't kidnapped and tossed in a bonfire or similar predicament as was routinely experiencing John since they had met.

So, this was how Sherlock found himself in a club a Saturday night looking for something other than drugs or a suspect, something he'd never thought would occur one day. The speakers were blaring with so loud a music that he felt somewhat disoriented as he crossed the club to have a look at the people on the dance floor. He finally caught a glimpse of his pathologist, dancing along with another girl – visibly a friend – and getting quite some interested looks from several men around her. Sherlock felt something hit his chest and was surprised to see that nothing had made contact with his body. No, this was purely internal… emotion. As he observed the young woman, he couldn't help but dissect all about her appearance. She wasn't dressed in her usual patterned clothes. She had donned a black dress with a mini skirt downplayed by a little oversize shirt. Her hair wasn't in her usual ponytail nor was it in the perfect dancer bun that she had for John's wedding. Instead, she had gone for a messy bun with a lock of her hair loose and fringing her face, haphazardly tucked behind one ear. Overall, this looked good on her, much better than he would have thought. Moreover, there were the shoes. High stilettos that looked perfectly impractical but did wonders for Molly's height and he was slight to admit it for her shapely legs. More interesting though, was how gracefully she danced. No drunken gaucheness, she was light on her feet and her moves quite in tune with the rhythm of the music. Sherlock felt a strange feeling unfurl in his lower stomach. He dismissed it. Molly started to dance with one of the men surrounding her and he had to fight back the urge to step in. As he was debating over himself why he was experiencing those strange and unexpected feelings, he was suddenly approached by someone:

"Hi Sherlock, what a surprise! Not your usual milieu, is it?" cheekily said a mouth very close to his ear.

Sherlock turned to see one Mary Watson, prettily dressed and still pregnant even if the dress had been chosen so as not to highlight the fact. This was another surprise. What would Mary Watson be doing here? He was quite flabbergasted.

"Mary Watson! What are you doing here? Do I have to remind you that not only you're married but you're pregnant?!" said Sherlock indignantly in her ear.

"Mary chuckled "Just a girls night out, it's fun Sherlock! Also, I get to be the one to get them safely back at their home when their drinking and dancing have worn them out!" she replied, giggling cheerfully at the look of disapproval in the detective's face.

"Sherlock was busy trying to think about the connection between Mary Watson and Molly Hooper. Yes, they knew each other and Mary might have mentioned a lunch or two with the pathologist to discuss about wedding's preparations but nothing indicative of a relationship that included going slumming in bars on a regular basis. At this last thought, he cringed. God if he didn't sound exactly as Mycroft. OK, that was in his own head but still. When had he become such a patronizing disdainful prick

Oblivious to Sherlock's internal struggles, Mary's behaviour changed slightly as she started fidgeting. She once again leaned toward the detective and asked "So, is John with you?

This startled Sherlock out of his musings "No, he's sulking in his room. Didn't think he would have been a great help in this state.

"Mary's face hesitated between guilt and relief, Sherlock observed. However, she seemed to make a conscious effort to let it go, shook her head and her face found back its cheery state. She finally asked:

"So, what are you doing here Sherlock? The only cadaver you'll find here will certainly be of glass origin…."

Now that the shock of finding his best friend's wife in a club faded, Sherlock's mind ventured back to the reason of his presence. He surveyed once more the dance floor and noticed that Molly was still dancing. No, she was dancing with the man and wait… was she closer to him than before?

Mary could see that the detective's attention had shifted toward the dancing crowd. In this moment, his face was totally clear of deceit and she could see as he frowned and his eyes narrowed while looking at her friend dancing her heart out. She smiled. Oh gosh, Sherlock was both so obvious and oblivious at the same time. Of course, she noticed the undercurrents in his behaviour whenever the petite woman was mentioned. From the first, guilty and somewhat longing way he said his first "Molly" to the way he had purposefully avoided the eyes of the pathologist when he was high as a kite, without forgetting how he had insisted that Molly was seated at the front table at the wedding party. That Sherlock was blind to it, she could somewhat understand it but she was still baffled that no one in their little circle had picked on it. She dismissed the current line of thought, not wanting to spoil her moods by thinking about her husband and focused back on needling poor Sherlock.

"Looking for something you like? Or is it more looking someone you like?" she teasingly murmured in his hear.

Sherlock glowered, his eyes still tracking his pathologist's movements. He didn't like what he saw at all. Molly was relaxed. She looked like she was enjoying herself and her eyes sparkled. It reminded him of the time when she had accompanied him at the trains maniac's. It was the same at-ease and playful attitude she'd had. Except, here, there was also an element of… seduction? It hit him at the same moment as Molly got even closer to the man dancing with her. Their bodies came in contact, the man letting his hand come to rest at Molly's hip as she smiled teasingly, her eyes half-lidded. Sherlock froze. An odious burning thing had started churning in his stomach and made its way to his higher body. Right at that moment, he could devise hundreds of ways to dispose of the man's life. He shot a quick look at Mary, who was looking at him and smiling unabashedly, clearly amused. He felt even more indignant. He gestured to the two people dancing and said:

"Aren't you going to do anything?" he would have added something if he wasn't quite at a loss for words. Damn, but this burning thing was starting to steal his words also. This was not a good feeling.

"She's having fun, Sherlock!" replied Mary smiling even wider.

"Aren't you responsible for her safe return?" he replied, his tone taking an accusing hedge. "He's obviously intent on…." Sherlock found himself unable to utter the words and shot a furious look at Mary.

"She just hunched her shoulders and finally said "Well, doesn't look like she's adverse to it, does it?"

At those words and the scene before him, Sherlock couldn't help but be unable to stand it anymore. He imagined for one instant going in and breaking up the couple until a shrill voice in the back of his mind warned him with a word: "sentiment". At that, he jerked back and without even saying goodbye to Mary, he whirled around and briskly exited the club. He went back to Baker Street and went to his room. There, much like his best friend, he finished his night sulking about chemical defects for the rest of the evening.


End file.
